


To the Crows

by Hatsepsut



Series: Not Your Happy Ending [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Character Death, Crows, F/M, Tragedy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:31:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hesitant, reserved mahariel doesn't let Zevran know what she means to her, untilit's too late. He belonged to the Corws, all along, and she mourns what could have been as she walks away...</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Crows

_‘Friends?’_

_He’d taken a look at her outstretched hand, his amber eyes unreadable, before he’d smiled his winsome, mischievous smile and nodded._

_‘Why not my lovely Warden? Yes...friends.’_

She looked at him now, pain in her eyes, a million thoughts going through her head even as her hands tightened around the hilts of her daggers mechanically. Had he been pretending all that time? Had he opened up to her about his past with ulterior motives in his head? Had he... but such thoughts did her no good, not here- not now. Not ever. Zevran was who he was: a Crow, an assassin. She should never have trusted him, she should never have opened up to him.

She should never have loved him.

Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears as she looked at him one last time, standing near Taliesen. The Crow was speaking, telling Zevran not to be a fool, telling him to go back, cajoling him that they would make up a story to cover up for his failure to kill her.

“Of course, I would have to be dead, then,” she softly said. She could swear Zevran’s eyes softened with something like regret for a second, before he smiled cruelly.

“Yes,” he drawled, his hands also flying to the hilts of his blades- the enchanted daggers she had given him. “You would have to be dead. Let us see if the second time around is the charm, hm?”

His laughter made something inside her curl up and die. Even as her dagger rose to block the first lightening fast strike, she kept looking into his eyes, those amber coloured eyes she had grown so fond of, the same ones that had those adorable lines creaking at their corners when he laughed.

Had all their jokes and jests- all the laughter- been for nothing? Had he kept his gaze focused to this moment in the future even as he’d laughed and shared stories by the campsite with her? The moment he would betray her?

A sudden  thought went through her brain, numbing her with the hot flash of pain it brought along for a second. Would he have betrayed her if she had accepted him in her bed? If she hadn't been so afraid to admit to herself that she had fallen in love with him? If she’d let her cold, ruthless mask slip, just a little? Her grip on her dagger faltered, and his dagger nicked her arm, making blood well. A small triumphant smile curled his lips, and  his eyes narrowed with cruel intent.

Something cracked in her chest even further, like breaking glass. Coldness spread down her body, freezing her down to her toes.

He really meant to kill her. _He really did_. Creators.

Her eyes watered, even as she raised her other dagger in an instinctive effort to block his thrust. One of his daggers was deflected, but the other one embedded itself in her belly with a sickening sound of rendering flesh.

It didn’t hurt, not yet. It felt cold, as if a sliver of ice had found its way into her gut. It would start hurting in a minute, she knew, but she was too shocked to feel it right now. She looked down, incredulous, to see his hand being drenched in her blood.

 The pain came as he twisted the blade.

She didn’t scream. To her honour, she didn’t scream. She just gasped, the pain suddenly strong enough to paralyze her brain. She drew in a gurgled breath, then looked into his eyes, her own crystalline blue eyes wide open with pain and shock.

“Why?” she just whispered. “Zev... _Why_?” She thought she saw his amber, cat-like eyes widen at the question, she thought she saw regret flash in their depths.  Before everything went black, he thought she heard him whisper an apology.

Maybe though, she was just imagining things.

* * *

She came to with Wynn’s worried face above her and pushed to her feet, still disoriented and still feeling as if her gut had been set on fire. She pressed a widely trembling hand on her aching midriff then stumbled as she looked around her; all her companions were alive. All the Crows were dead.

Her Crow was dead too.

She limped to his side, then knelt down. The movement made something in her gut scream and protest, momentarily making her mind fog with a searing flash of agony. She ignored it, and stretched out a wildly trembling hand to brush away a bloodstained lock of golden hair away from Zevran’s face.

“Alistair saved you,” Leliana whispered. “It was lucky he was so close.”

“Yes,” she agreed, her eyes still focused on the face of the elven assassin. He looked to be so peaceful in death, merely sleeping. His face had softened to that of a young man that hadn’t lived a life of misery and torment, who hadn't been taught from an early age not to trust in anyone and not to be something that anyone could trust. Her fingers traced the sweeping line of his tattoo on his temple. “Lucky.”

“Did he know?” Leliana asked softly. “Had you told him?”

“No,” tears flooded her eyes. “I was going to...tonight.”

A hand landed on her shoulder, tightened for a few seconds, before the Orlesian bard stepped away respectfully, giving her time to say her goodbyes. Behind her, she could hear Alistair muttering darkly that he had never trusted that damned blighted assassin and he’d been right not to. Something made the ex templar stop mid-sentence and she was aware of being grateful for it in some corner of her mind. Her eyes focused unblinkingly on that of the blond assassin, she vaguely registered Alistair’s pained yelp as he started hopping around on one foot.

“Shush, you foolish boy,” she heard Wynn mutter to the ex-templar that had started complaining that she had surprisingly heavy feet for her size. “Shush. Don’t make me kick you in the shin, as well.”

“What?Why? What did I s...oh. _OH_. Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Be sorry in silence, you fool.”

“Alright.”

She sighed. The silence that fell behind her was even more intrusive than their careless talk. It felt like a monster’s breath behind her, heavy, oppressive, watching her, judging her. Telling her what a fool she had been; a fool twice, three times over: first trusting the Crow, then falling for him, and now falling _to_ him.

Had he really hesitated before slamming that dagger in her gut? Had he really uttered that apology, or was it wishful thinking from that romantic, head-over-heels in love little girl she had buried so deep inside her?

She would never know.

She sighed, and then her hand landed on his forehead, caressing his face in a barely there touch, smoothing over those handsome features and closing his eyes as well as it did so. It was their first caress, the first one she had initiated, and their last.

She sighed again. Pain and regret, regret and pain, dancing inside her heart, twirling around faster and faster, making her stomach roll.

She breathed the words for the departed over him, so softly that perhaps no words were really heard. Then her featured hardened, tightening to the steely mask that she wore as effortlessly as her armour, and she rose to her feet.

“Take his armour and his weapons,” she told her companions as she went by them, her gait as determined and ruthless as always, her voice steady. “That Dragonhide armour is expensive.”

“What should we do with his body?” Alistair asked timidly behind her back. “Should we...you know...bury him? Or give him a pyre?”

She didn't even turn back. To her companions, her back was as ramrod-straight as always, her shoulders thrown back with determination. Her head was held up high, and her gait never faltered. “No,” she said, not turning back, because tears were running down her face, and she wanted nobody to see. “No.” Her voice was steady, unwavering, even as all the pain in her heart drained in helpless tears down her cheeks.

“No,” she repeated for the last time, her voice hardening even more. “There’s no time.”

As she walked away she heard the sound of metal clanking behind her- her companions were stripping Zevran of his armour. She lowered her head as she rounded the corner, and a gloved hand wiped the tears off her face. One deep breath later, she was composed again.

It was over, her childish, repressed dream was over, and she had work to do. She had finally decided to let him know, to take a chance...she was going to tell him. She was going to take a chance and let him know he had won her heart a long time ago. She had  been scared, terrified of opening up, but she was going to, this night. Something cracked inside her, and she brought her hand to her heart, trying to keep it in, feeling as if pieces of her heart would start tumbling to the ground any minute now.

But she had to stay strong. That was who she was. Strong. Ruthless if she had to. Always ready to make the hard decisions nobody else wanted to make. Always getting the job done.“A Warden does what a Warden must do”, she whispered to herself. _And a Crow does what a Crow knows best...betray...kill. Die_.

Above her, crows gave their mournful cries as the circled above the rooftops. She spared them one look before going on, the steps of her companions rushing up to catch up with her.

She cringed as the birds descended in the now abandoned little square and a chill ran down her spine as their squalling cries increased in volume. Crows were feasting, this afternoon, and she knew- she would never again hear that sound without cringing.

“We should have buried him,” Alistair winced next to her. “Or burned him.”

“Leave him to the crows,” the firm, gleaming eyes of the Warden pinned him with a hard, cruel look. He thought he saw her eyes soften with pain for a moment, but it was gone so fast, he was left there thinking he had imagined it. She looked back, and her gaze hardened again, to the one of their ruthless, effective leader.

“He was theirs all along.”

Inside her chest, her heart made a weird little flutter, protesting, but she clamped on the regret, and didn’t let it show. She clenched her teeth and her fists, and ordered her ears to stop listening to the fading squawking of the crows.

Alistair saw- and he said nothing. But his steps were a little heavier, his armoured grieves clanking a little too loudly for the usually softly treading man. He started yapping on, telling her some absurd little tale from his Chantry days.

She half-listened, for once grateful for the noise and his insistent yammering.

It was over- Zevran was dead.

And she had work to do.

 


End file.
